


Gods and Monsters

by gypsiangel



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Gen, Mental Instability, Original Character(s), Psychic Abilities, past graphic child abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-29
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-02-27 09:42:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2688098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gypsiangel/pseuds/gypsiangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was reminded of the tales of changelings; human children taken in the night by the fae and replaced by one of their own offspring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi :) This story is written with a character that I've had for a very long time, and I have a lot of different variations of her. This one's on the more broken and dark end of the scale- perfect for a Hannibal fanfic, right? You guys might actually see a few other variations of Serena in my work in other fandoms as a bit of a head's up. And as a quick note, I am still relatively new to archiving here, so if I make a mistake and tag something wrong, please be nice when informing me. I don't mind editing/changing tags as needed, but there's no need to be rude. And thanks to everyone who takes the time to read this!

*~*~*

            The solarium was warm and smelled of plants and damp earth, the rain and wind whistled against the thick, ancient glass that separated her from the rest of the world. The petite girl moved through the dim room, an old worn book and a small silver iPod clutched in one hand. Nervously, she surveyed the room to make sure there was no one else there before she went to take her place between the shelves of potted plants under the windows. Of course there wasn’t anyone else. It was late, long past time for lights out. The nurses knew her habits and other than occasionally poking their heads in to check on her, they knew she was all right where she was.

            Sleep wasn’t her friend. Sleeping brought dreams and she was done dreaming. They tried to give her medicine to make her sleep, but it just made it so that she couldn’t wake up when the dark chased through her mind, bringing with it images of things and people she didn’t want to see. She hid the night pills under her tongue and spit them into the toilet when no one was looking. She knew that they knew. As long as she wasn’t a nuisance, they let it slide. There were always needles full of drugs if she did get out of control, but she had grown past that necessity.

            The key was to stay away from everyone else. If no one noticed her, no one would want to talk to her. If no one talked to her, then no one would try to touch her. If no one tried to touch her, then she wouldn’t be forced to see. She didn’t want to see, she didn’t want to know. So she stayed in her room until everyone else was gone to bed, or outside for recreation when the sun was out and it was nice enough. The nurses had tried to get her to eat in the dining room with everyone else, but had given up when she had stopped eating, her stomach too nervous around so many others. Now, she was allowed to take a tray to her room and eat there with her books and music.

            Settling down on the floor where she was completely out of sight of the door and finally in her own relatively comfortable world, she drew her legs up to her chest and opened her book to set it on the floor in front of her. The dim lights above the windows were good enough for her to read by, but not harsh like the overhead fluorescents the others preferred. She liked sitting in the near dark. It was comfortable and so easy for her to blend in with the shadows. She plugged in her headphones and turned her music on, a little of the tension easing away from her shoulders as the soothing sounds came through. It wasn’t loud. She never had it too loud just in case someone else came in and she needed to leave quickly. Even here, in her chosen sanctuary when no one else was awake, there was the possibility.

            Picking up the book again, she started reading, quickly losing herself in the familiar lines of script.

            The door opened quietly and another girl came inside, not moving as silently, but still so quiet that normal hearing would never detect the movement. Scanning the dim solarium and not seeing anyone right away, Abbigail Hobbs breathed a deep sigh of relief and moved to the window seat neatly arranged under one of the massive wall-to-wall windows. She was still shaken by the nightmares that had stalked her sleep, and it showed in the slight trembling of her shoulders and hands. Tears still stung her eyelids and she felt the weight of everything that had happened in her short life like a metal anchor around her shoulders.

            She had snuck out of her room about an hour after lights out, listening for the nurses to go about their business in other areas of the sanitarium. Remembering the solarium and how deserted it usually stayed even during the day, she made her way back. Slowly taking a seat and moving to her own corner of the window ledge, she realized that she wasn’t alone. Freezing up, she stared at the other girl sitting on the floor with startled eyes and held breath. She let it out with a shaky sigh and said, “Hi, I didn’t realize anyone else was here.”

            The other girl jumped and lifted her face to look at Abigail with wide eyes that were far too large. With a tug, the headphones felt to her shoulders. “Oh.” She looked like she wanted to bolt, the sheer fright in her expression made Abigail’s stomach tighten with pity, and something else. Trembling, the girl held her ground but barely. Her thin arms tightened around where they were hugging her knees to her chest. Abigail noted the book the girl clutched to her now, as if it were a shield in her white-knuckled hands.

            “I’m sorry if I scared you.” Automatically lowering and softening her voice, she finished settling back into the corner. She moved smoothly, pulling her feet up onto the cushion to mirror her counterpart. “I’m Abigail.”

            “S-Serena.” It fit her, Abigail thought, looking over the smaller girl. She was too thin, all sharp angles and baggy clothes. Her face was very pretty, if a little too sharp, and the huge eyes that glinted up at her were hard to define for color. They were light, almost clear in the dim lighting. For the first time since being locked away because there was no other place for her, she felt a little bit of the horrible tightness ease away. She felt strange as the girl’s nervousness sank in. She felt like she wanted to protect her, to probe into the haunted and damaged look to her, to find out why.

            “What are you in for,” Abigail asked gently, trying for a light tone but falling a bit short of the mark.

            “I…” Serena swallowed hard and surged to her feet so quickly that the teenager blinked in shock. “I have to go.” Then she was gone, the heavy door slipping shut behind her.

            Abigail sighed and dropped her forehead to her knees. Great, she thought. But her mind was twirling around the mystery of her late night companion. Obviously she was another insomniac. Question was, did Serena have problems sleeping for the same reason she did? Was it nightmares that drug her out of her bed? It must be. This place was heavy handed with the sleeping pills so it must be some kind of awful. She didn’t take the sleeping meds because she didn’t want to risk not waking up if she dreamed. What kind of nightmares plagued the other girl?

*~*~*

            The sunshine finally came out, drawing the rest of the residents outside. Timing was everything and Serena had been there long enough to have it down to a science. Right after lunch, everyone would go outside for recreation. The nurses had only tried a handful of times to get her to go with the others with the result being a major tantrum that ended with injected sedatives and one orderly with a broken nose. The doctors had decided it was better for all involved if they didn’t force her. Even the thought of going outside made her want to be sick. She did want to sit in the sunshine, however, so she waited until everyone was gone before she slipped out of her room and into her normal spot.

            Abigail watched for her new friend. Or, more accurately, the girl she wanted to make her friend. Serena was a puzzle that had been burning at her since that night in the solarium after hours. She had been looking for her around the rest of the hospital, not seeing her in the dining room or any of the group meetings she’d been forced to attend. A slightly condescending smile, a pat on the arm, and a, “If Serena wants to be friendly, she’ll find you,” was the answer she got from any of the nurses that she’d finally broken down and asked. It annoyed the hell out of her and added another layer of mystery. Exactly how long had the other girl been there? The three months she’d been locked up had been more than enough for her.

            The other residents knew only a little more than Abigail did, and most of them didn’t know their head from a hole in the wall. What she had learned was that Serena had been there a long time, since she was a kid, and there was little hope of her ever being able to go home. Most of them said that she didn’t actually have a home to go back to. Not that they did either. That’s why they were there in the first place, wasn’t it?

            Not feeling up to going outside in the chill air, Abigail had waited until everyone else was outside before slipping back into the solarium. It had quickly become a favorite place for her, the heated air and the wide windows plenty big enough for her to soak up some of the sunshine without freezing her butt off in the late fall air. And she had to admit to herself that she’d been haunting the huge room hoping that she’d see the mystery girl there again. She felt a thrill of triumph when she saw Serena curled up in her little ball underneath the windows.

            Tensing up the moment she saw Abigail, it was obvious that Serena wanted to bolt but knew she’d have to go past the other girl to get to the door. “It’s okay,” Abigail tried to keep her tone easy and gentle without sounding fake. She smiled in her best, ‘See, I’m harmless’ way. “I hate going outside when it’s so cold. I don’t know why they try to force people into going out there.”

            “The fresh air is supposed to be good for us,” Serena sounded about as thrilled at the concept as she was.

            “You don’t like the cold either, huh?”

            “I hate being outside,” Serena amended after a hesitation, her eyes wary as Abigail sat across the way from her.

            “It’s cool that they let you stay inside. I had to sneak back in when the nurse on duty turned her back. I’m sure I’ll hear about it later.”

            Serena looked back down at the book she had open on the floor next to her feet. “What are you reading?”

            She shut the cover of the book and turned it so Abigail could see. “Wuthering Heights. I remember reading that in English class. A bit morbid, but it was good. You must have really liked it to willingly read it now. There’s something about the required reading for high school that takes the joy out of it for me, you know?”

            Serena glanced back up at her, then back down. Her fingers toyed with the sleeve of her sweater and Abigail noted the ragged nails that were bitten down to the skin. Both of the girls startled when the door to the solarium opened and she bit back a groan of annoyance when the FBI consultant, Will Graham, and Dr. Lecter came inside. A frightened look crossed Serena’s face, then she was standing up, those tiny fingers linking together tightly, then pulling apart. She glanced at Abigail, who wisely kept her seat.

            “Hello,” Will said in surprise, though he accurately read the anxiety nearly rolling off of the tawny haired young woman and kept his voice soft. His entire posture changed as he tried to make himself look nonthreatening. Dr. Lecter glanced over at the shorter man at the tone. It was almost as if he were speaking to one of his skittish strays. It was a rather accurate comparison, the therapist mused dryly as he looked the girl over with a casual eye. It was as if he were looking at a younger, more broken version of his friend.

            “I-I have to… I need to…” she didn’t finish the sentence because her low voice cracked and she swallowed nervously. She hugged her arms around her waist and darted past the two men, leaving her book on the floor.

            “Thanks a lot,” Abigail huffed when the door to the solarium swung shut. “I’ve been trying to talk to her for almost two weeks and you scared her off.”

            “Who is she,” Will asked, intrigued by the flash of oversized eyes and a nearly overwhelming sense of recognition when he glimpsed the haunted and skittish way she held herself and neatly avoided looking at his face.

            “Her name’s Serena,” Abigail told them. “I ran into her in here after hours when I couldn’t sleep.”

            “You are bored and she is a mystery,” Hannibal pointed out, a hint of a smile touching the edges of his mouth. She glanced at him, unsure if he was mocking her.

            She crossed her arms and sat back down on the window seat. “Kinda, yeah,” she admitted with a sigh. “There’s something to her story and no one’s sharing it. Besides, I think she needs a friend.”

            “Perhaps both of you need a friend,” Hannibal agreed and watched as Will moved to pick up the abandoned book.

            “She likes the classics,” he noted, turning the worn hardcover around in his hands.

            “Why are you guys here,” Abigail asked, eyeing them with drawn eyebrows. Her stomach twisted. She knew why they were there. Her hand fluttered unconsciously to the pretty blue and green scarf she’d tied around her neck.

            “Agent Crawford wants us to go over some more details about your father, Abigail,” Will started and she immediately felt the familiar sting of tears. She didn’t want to talk about her father anymore. She didn’t want to deal with any of it. Not anymore. But everything around her was a reminder of what had happened. Every time she looked in the mirror, there was a physical reminder of how sick her father had been. She couldn’t close her eyes without thinking about it, about all of it.

            “I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” she said through clenched teeth, her blue eyes flashing with pain and annoyance. “I want to leave here. I want all of it to be over with.”

            Will looked away from her, back down at the brown covered book in his hands. He wanted it to be over, too. Too bad he rarely got what he wanted.

*~*~*

            “Don’t touch me.” The command had a note of panic and Abigail stopped short of touching her new friend’s shoulder. They were in the solarium again a few days after Will and Hannibal’s last visit. It was after hours and she had slipped in with a couple mugs of tea she’d charmed out of the nurses on duty, hoping that Serena would be there.

            Serena hadn’t looked up from where she’d had her head resting against her knees and Abigail had thought she might have fallen asleep. She had placed the cups on the floor and knelt to gently shake her awake. She fell back on her heels and placed her hands on her thighs, startled by the harsh words. The other girl’s eyes were red-rimmed and wet when she looked up and she felt her heart drop just a little. “Are you all right?”

            Her full lower lip quivered and she drew in a shaky breath, “Bad dreams. They never stop. They’re not mine and I don’t want them anymore.” She rubbed at her pale forehead.

            “My nightmares suck really bad too,” Abigail said softly, remembering the nightmare that had pulled her out of her own bed not too long ago. “I keep dreaming about my dad.”

            “He can’t hurt you anymore,” Serena stated, running her fingers through her hair, tugging at it a little when she reached the back. “Not anymore. They say my mother can’t hurt me anymore either, that I’m safe here. But she’s still living. She can come here and take me away if no one is looking. He can’t. He can’t hurt anyone anymore.”

            Abigail’s mouth dropped open and she stared. “Who told you?”

            Serena looked at her in surprise, as if she just noticed she was there. For the first time, Abigail noted the dazed and unfocused quality of her pale green eyes. “Are you okay,” she asked again, fighting the urge to reach out and take her by the hand, to maybe physically bring her back. “Serena?”

            “I’m tired,” Serena whispered and chewed on her bottom lip. She screwed her eyes shut and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyelids. “But I don’t want to sleep. There’s blood in my mouth and it’s all I can taste. Blood and ashes. Ashes and blood and bits of bone. All I can see is bad.”

            Not knowing what to say, Abigail sat there in silence and watched her rock back and forth. She needed to talk to Hannibal.

*~*~*

            “She knew about my dad. Serena did. Last night I found her in the solarium again and she… she didn’t look too good.” Abigail had waited until dinner was over and she was helping him get the kitchen set back to rights to bring up the subject.

            “What do you mean?” Hannibal paused in his task of refolding the kitchen towel he’d been using.

            “I don’t even think she knew she was talking to me,” Abigail admitted, worry heavy in her eyes. She turned around to lean her hips against the kitchen counter, one hand gripping her elbow as she looked at him. “I thought she’d fallen asleep and I was going to shake her shoulder to wake her up, she just knew I was there and I was about to touch her. I asked her if she was okay and she said she’d had bad dreams.”

            She swallowed hard, “I told her that my nightmares were pretty bad too. And then she told me that he couldn’t hurt me anymore. She said that they’d told her that her mother couldn’t hurt her anymore either, but that her mother was still alive and that she could come and take her if no one was looking. But she said that my dad couldn’t; that he couldn’t hurt anyone anymore.”

            Knowing she wasn’t finished, Hannibal leaned against his own section of countertop and waited. His interest was piqued. “I asked her who told her, and then she looked at me like she was just seeing me for the first time since I sat down next to her. She looked… vacant, like she was asleep and awake all at the same time. I asked her if she was okay again, and she said that she was tired but didn’t want to sleep. She said there’s blood in her mouth and it’s all she can taste. ‘Ashes and blood and bits of bone.’”

            “Sometimes if the trauma is severe enough, it will literally break a person’s mind, Abigail. She is in the sanitarium for a reason,” Hannibal told her gently, though he was mentally moving through the list of staff that might have been uncouth enough to be discussing their patients’ histories where other residents might overhear.

            “No one told her, Hannibal,” Abigail told him firmly. “I thought about it. Serena doesn’t talk to anyone. She avoids people like the plague. You saw her.”

            Hannibal nodded thoughtfully, “I will look into it.”

*~*~*


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and commenting! :D You're awesome! And I realized as I was reading over this that Abigail might seem a bit ooc- so a little warning, I guess.

*~*~*

            “I can’t feel you.” Hannibal found himself intrigued by the little waif that his Abigail had adopted. He studied her, engaged by the complexity of someone who had survived the kind of early trauma she had. He knew that extreme child abuse existed; he had seen cases of it before. Most children in those situations, even if they made it out of the home alive, never made it out of young adulthood. He had seen her files and had memorized them before coming to see her. She had been diagnosed with acute schizophrenia offset by severe abuse and neglect as a child. The symptoms had come on early, compounding her mother’s own mental disorders. Her mother had been convinced that the girl was possessed by demons and had tried to starve and beat them out. The police had been called by neighbors when she was eleven and what they had found had colored their reports with underlying horror and anger.

            Copies of the medical records from when the police were called in showed signs of torture. Cuts, whip marks, burns. Xrays showed badly healed breaks, fractures that left her with a permanent limp. Malnutrition and neglect was evident; at eleven years old she had weighed in at sixty-eight pounds when she had been pulled from the house of horrors. It stunted her growth enough that her height had settled at four feet eleven inches and even now she had a problem putting on weight. Hannibal wondered if they were feeding her right. Even the reputable asylums were generic in how they fed their residents. Port Haven was one of the best in the state, however he was certain that other than catering to allergies, they were only concerned with general nutrition.

            He was sitting across from her at the small table in her room. It was comparable to Abigail’s in size and shape, only the color scheme was a pale green instead of blue. This had been her home since she was very small, so it was more personalized. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled to the max with a surprisingly large variety of well-loved books. He didn’t see any kind of rhyme or reason to the order, but he had a hunch that the girl knew exactly where to find a certain title if she wanted to find it. He didn’t see much in the way of stuffed animals or other teenage comfort items and he was reminded once again that she wasn’t as young as she seemed, if she ever had been young.

            At twenty-three, she was five years older than Abigail, though physically she seemed younger. Her personality shone though in other ways; small knickknacks and keepsakes presented with care on top of the bookshelves and a tiny iPod docking station on the bedside table. He idly wondered what type of music she listened to. She had a sketch pad in front of her and a small box filled with charcoal of different thicknesses and lengths. Her fingertips were black and the page in front of her was nearly filled with shapes and figures he couldn’t quite make out.

            “You are an artist?” His tone was its usual gentle cadence, the foreign twist to his words making them even more interesting to her ears. He could almost see the little appendages twitch as she listened to him. Shoulders lifted in a tight shrug and she raised her unusual eyes to his for the first time since he’d let himself into her room. They were a light green so pale that they seemed nearly clear and if it hadn’t been for the oversized and exotic shape to them, it would have been unnerving and almost unattractive. There was a very light ring of amber around the pupil, startling and only visible if someone looked long enough. Unblinking, she stared at him for several long minutes.

            While he was waiting for her to speak, he noted the rest of her features. He was reminded of the tales of changelings; human children taken in the night by the fae and replaced by one of their own offspring. The changelings were never quite ‘right’, but most of them passed as human. The abuse and neglect of her childhood had taken its toll, leaving her undersized and heartbreakingly fragile. Nervous little fingers toyed with the charcoal before she put it back into the box with the other pieces.

            “I draw what I dream,” she told him finally. Her voice was husky with disuse, but Hannibal found it a pleasant alto rather than the girlish tones he had been expecting. Her bowed lips curved up at the edges in a humorless smile. “They want me to draw what I see, but they hate to look at it.”

            “What do you dream?”

            Her smile fell away in a tremble and she looked back down at the sketch pad. A finger rubbed at a thick line, softening it into something more acceptable. “Bad things.” Her voice dropped to a whisper and he could hear just the hint of tears. “Horrible things. I try not to sleep. I spit out the pills they give me at night because if I take them, I can’t wake up. I don’t want to be trapped.”

            “You still dream even with the medication the doctors give you?” He frowned, taking a mental note to speak with the doctor on staff. If they were giving her the right prescription and dose, she shouldn’t be dreaming at all.

            She rubbed at her temple, forgetting her sooty fingers. She left a smear of black along the side of her face as she drew her hand back down to the tabletop in front of her. “May I see your drawings?”

            She froze up and he watched as she drew her lower lip into her mouth, biting at the chapped pink flesh. After a long deliberation, she quickly pushed the sketch pad across the table and stood up. He watched her go toward the bookshelves before allowing himself to look down at the page in front of him. Face smoothing out, he felt an odd coiling tightness in his stomach at the images this woman-child had pulled out of her nightmares and put to paper with an eerie accuracy. She was a very talented artist, content aside. The lines were clean where they needed to be and the proper shading was evident. It looked nightmarish and amazingly real.

            The female body was draped across an impressive rack of antlers, the horns protruding through the torso, arms, and legs. Black hair cascaded down to mingle with the tall grass and the profile of the face was bittersweet in its perfect rendition of the girl Will Graham and his colleagues had found nearly three months earlier. Hannibal knew this scene well. He had been the one to orchestrate it. After the initial shock had worn off, he found himself proud of the tribute Serena had paid to his work. Despite the dark morbidity- or maybe because of it-, it was graceful and poetic in its own grayscale way. Even the fine details of the scavenging crows were realistic and familiar.

            “This was in your dreams,” he asked, his tone never changing from its even timbre. He flipped the page and was rewarded with another dark sketch, this one a darkened room with a bed and a girl that looked to be asleep. She was lying on her back, dark hair smoothed down and perfect against the white pillow, her peaceful face drawn with such aching attention. The blankets were folded down to the top of her thighs, showing the white nightgown and the pattern of bloodstains. Elise Nichols, the girl that had started his association with Jack Crawford and Will Graham.

            Her hands ran across the wood at the top of the waist-high bookshelves near the window and he silently rose to stand, then moved so that he was within reaching distance of her. He could see her eyes dart nervously over the titles on the spines of the books. She stepped out of reach of him again and he allowed it because it was a general nervousness and fear of touch that made her move away. It had nothing to do with him in particular.

            She nodded shortly and took a book of poems by Robert Frost off the shelf. “I dream of lots of things.”

            “Will you tell me about the dream that inspired these?” He lifted the drawing so she could see that he had changed what he was looking at. In his way, he let her know that the two were linked without actually saying it.

            She hugged the book to her chest and lowered her head, allowing the thick golden brown mane of her hair to fall to hide her face. His fingers itched to push it back, to feel the soft silkiness of it as it slid through his hands. He was a creature of sensation, of texture. He always had been. There was something about her fragility that spoke to him in a way he hadn’t experienced in a very, very long time. “She was so alone, there at the end. It was something that she’d liked before- the being alone. She liked being at school in the dorms and surrounded by the others, but she also loved her long train rides where she could blend in and be just another passenger.”

            Serena’s voice had somehow become less substantial, not quite a whisper, but not quite at full volume. The husky quality hadn’t lessened and Hannibal was pleased to note that it was her normal speaking voice. He stood still and silent as she continued her narrative, swaying slightly as if she was a part of the grassy field being pushed gently by the wind. “He hurt her, but not for long. It was over quickly, too quickly for her to even scream. She couldn’t breathe.” Serena lifted one hand to touch her own throat, “His hands squeezed so hard, it hurt so badly. Then she was gone. The blood came fast after that, gushing and flowing like water through a crack in a dam. It covered her, covered him, covered everything.”

            “He hung her on the wall, sacrificed to the elder forest god pierced through by the ancient antlers, though he didn’t see it that way. There was reverence, but not for any god. He cut her open once the blood was gone, as he cut open the deer in the forest. He touched her hair, pressed his lips to her face. He loves her even though he doesn’t know her. In his mind, she is someone else. Then he’s angry when he sees that there’s something wrong. Something’s wrong with her, with the flesh he’d harvested. It’s not healthy. She means less to him now. He puts everything back, clumsily, not where it’s supposed to go. It’s wrong, and he’s sorry. He puts her nightgown back on and takes her home. He puts her back to bed, stroking her hair and kissing her forehead.”

            Hannibal is riveted by what she’s saying, watching her rock back and forth on her heels as she recounts the nightmare that had pushed through the sleeping pills forced on her by the well-meaning caretakers. “What about this one, Serena, was this in your dreams as well?” He already knows the answer, but he wants her to tell him.

            “She was a gift,” Serena said and pursed her lips for a second, her blurry eyes moving over a scene only she could see. “Carefully chosen but not for the same reasons as the other girl. Sweet thing, but not as sweet as she seemed on the outside. Inside there was the soul of a harpy, vile and spoiled. She died slower, choking on her own blood. Pain has its purpose, and its place now is to make a point. Different hands around a different neck, pressing and squeezing until there isn’t anything left.” She gasped a little, her breath hitching as she brought a deep draught of air back into her own lungs. She blinked and turned back to the shelf, putting the book back from where she’d taken it from. She hugged her arms around herself again, hands clutching the fabric to either side of her sweater and she shivered as if she were cold. “She was prepared following the directions of the other, but it was different. Purposely different. She was left as an offering, as a gift to help William see what he needed to see.”

            “A gift for William?” Hannibal couldn’t resist asking the quiet question, even though he already knew the answer. “Who is William, Serena?”

            She blinked again as his voice brought her back to the present and she visibly shook herself out of the daze she’d slipped into. He was rewarded with another flash of exotic color as she locked gazes with him. Glistening with unshed tears, she shrugged and reached for the same book she’d just put back on the shelf. “He’s lost.”

            Hesitating, she continued, “Like me.”

            “Serena,” Hannibal spoke her name and it came out sounding odd to his ears, but he continued, “You are not lost. Not anymore.”

            She laughed and it was a painful sound, bitter and so much like Will’s self-depreciating attempt at humor that Hannibal couldn’t help but draw similarities between the two. The differences were just as stark, but the psychologist was coming to the conclusion that the two people he had recently brought into his sphere of influence were almost on the same mental wavelength. Will was just higher functioning at this point. Will had more walls built up, crumbling as they may be. Serena had never gained the walls to help her cope. Her sadistic mother had seen to that.

            He reached out to touch her, out of curiosity and a strange compulsion to see if she was really standing there, or if she was a dream of some sort. She stepped back, jaw clenching as her eyes went wide with near panic. “Please don’t touch me,” she said sharply. She shook her head. “The knowing is worse then. I don’t want to know, and I don’t want to see. It’s not mine and I shouldn’t have to see it if I don’t want to.”

            “What do you see when you touch others, Serena?” He slid his hands smoothly into the pockets of his tailored slacks, but she still moved away, pacing back to hover over her small table. She was getting agitated now, her fingers tightening and loosening on the book she clutched to her chest again. He could see the fine tremors in her shoulders and arms.

            “Too much. I see too much. I c-can’t shut it off. They- the doctors think they’ve fixed it, but they haven’t. They can’t fix it. I pretend that they have because I don’t want to go through any more tests. The pills make me sick, but I take them anyway. I don’t want it anymore.”

            “You said you couldn’t read me.”

            She hesitated again, head cocking to the side as she eyed him thoughtfully. “I can’t. Not from here. I… I can usually… but not you. You’re a gray wall where there’s usually noise.”

            Interesting. Was it worth the risk to see if she truly couldn’t see through his walls? If she did, it could quite literally break the fragile hold this fascinating faerie had on sanity. His true nature would serve to break her more surely than Jack Crawford’s pushing of Will was slowly fracturing the young man. If she couldn’t see through his barriers, he would become a wall of physical comfort for her- something that she had never had before. He would become important to the frail woman, a source of strength… of power. The possibilities swam through his mind, excited him. First the cat and mouse game he’d started with the young agent, and now this. He hadn’t been this stimulated in so long he had forgotten what it was like.

            “I am having Abigail to my home for a night out. I am cooking for her and a couple of our friends. I would like to see if your caretakers would allow you to come along.”

            She retreated a couple steps, frightened at the prospect of leaving her sanctuary. For Abigail, this place was a prison. It was a place where she was confined because they had no other place for her. For Serena, this was her home. This was the only place she had ever been safe. To step outside and into a less controlled environment was terrifying.

            “I-I-I don’t know,” she stammered. “I-…”

            “I will ask for permission,” he soothed, smiling at her. “That does not mean you are obligated.”

            He looked at his watch casually and said smoothly, “I must be leaving, Serena. I will speak with your doctors and we will go from there, all right?”

            She took a breath and nodded. He was gone before she realized that he had taken her sketch pad with him.

*~*~*

            The formal dining room was elegant and somewhat dark, and Serena found she liked it even though it felt like her skin was going to travel off her flesh. Jumpy and out of sorts, she resisted the urge to pull her feet up onto the expensive chair she was sitting on to hug them to her chest. It was how she preferred to sit when she was feeling out of control. It made her feel safer, even if she really wasn’t. She felt exposed and vulnerable sitting across from Abigail, between Hannibal, who was at the head of the table, and the man she’d been introduced to as Will Graham. The other psychologist, Alana Bloom, was next to Abigail on the opposite side of the table.

            Everything was laid out in a perfect array of light and near formal sophistication. Flowers, candles, and the classic plain white china and delicate flatware… everything was… oh, so breakable. When everyone else started eating, she stared down at the beautifully arranged vegetables, cheeses, and artisan crackers that adorned her own plate. She wasn’t hungry, but her host had gone out of his way to invite her in the first place. Stomach twisting, she finally pulled a hand out from under the table and shakily took one of the crackers and paired it with a small slice of cheese.

            Hannibal watched his newest guest with an interest that should have made her uncomfortable if the girl had been aware of anything beyond the young consultant sitting next to her. She sat with her elbows to the side, making herself as small as possible while she avoided looking at any one thing for too long. Her discomfort with the seating arrangements was painfully obvious. He had placed her between himself and Will as an experiment to see how she would react.

            Will was nervous as well, it was obvious in his silence and the way he watched his seatmate through the corner of his eyes. He had to be picking up on her anxiety, no doubt he could feel the unease rolling off her in waves and it bothered him that he was the cause. Where she had described Hannibal himself as a gray wall of silence, Will on the other hand, had to be a riot of contrast for the sensitive. He had done his homework on her clinical diagnosis versus the oddity of genuine psychic ability. It was a subject that he had recent interest in because of his work with Will.

            “I hope your meal is adequate, Serena.” Hannibal’s voice made her jump and drop the cheese off her cracker. She looked at him with wide eyes and found the slight curve of his smile to be oddly reassuring. “I spoke with your doctor about your dietary restrictions. I’m unaccustomed to serving strictly vegetarian meals. However, I love a challenge and I promise that by your next visit, I will have a more pleasant offering.”

            “Thank you, this is good as it is, Dr. Lecter.” Serena swallowed hard before answering, fighting for a moment to find her voice.

            “It sucks that you can’t eat meat, Serena,” Abigail said and her cheeks dimpled in a smile across the table. She knew that the other girl wasn’t the social type and she knew that the only reason Serena even spoke to her was because she wouldn’t take no for an answer. Besides, the teenager respected her phobia about being touched, while not many people did. “This is awesome and Hannibal is always cooking something different.”

            Serena bit into the cracker sans cheese. It was dry and crispy, but loaded with a buttery garlic taste. It took everything in her to swallow the bite.

            “I had a chance to speak with your doctors, Serena,” Alana started after a few minutes of quiet, filling in the uncomfortable silence. She turned sympathetic eyes on the young woman across the table from her. “Dr. Lecter filled me in on your trouble sleeping, and I agree that maybe the medications they have you on aren’t the best fit. I hope you don’t mind that we’re taking an interest.”

            Serena stopped even the pretense of eating, dropping her hands back under the table again where she toyed with the hem of her shirt. “I-I don’t know what to s-say.” Lack of appetite, Hannibal noted. Another reason behind her inability to gain healthy weight.

            “I would also like to work with you and your doctors to come up with a nutrition plan that could get you to a more healthy weight class.”

            Abigail laughed softly and commented, “He’s saying you’re too skinny. So many women would love to be told that.”

            Some of the tension broken, the teenager went on to try and change the subject away from her friend, who was even more pale than normal and looked like she wanted to sink into the floor. The rest of dinner went smoothly and Serena ate a few more bites of desert, which was a light fruit tart that seemed to ease some of the upset. Will joined in a few times in the conversation, but mostly kept quiet and observant.

*~*~*

            “Does Serena allow casual touching between you,” Hannibal asked, not even pretending to be nonchalant in his approach. He had left Will and Serena in his library while he and Abigail cleaned up after the meal. Regretfully, Alana had needed to leave right after dinner, so it was just the four of them. He used the opportunity to ask pertinent questions of the girl he was starting to have a more or less genuine fondness for.

            “No.” Abigail frowned and she glanced at him while she finished drying the wine glasses. “She’s actually phobic about being touched. I overheard the nurses talking about it and I guess it’s because of what her mother did to her when she was growing up.”

            She was quiet for a couple minutes and Hannibal waited patiently. “I’ve seen her scars, Hannibal, when she thought no one was looking. I walked into her room when she was changing and she didn’t see me right away.” Her eyes glistened with tears at the memory of the horrible marks still evident on the pale skin usually covered up with big sweaters.

            His hand was warm as it squeezed her shoulder. “We will make sure to do right by her, Abigail.”

            She nodded and turned her attention back to getting the kitchen back in order quickly so they could join Will and Serena in the library. She didn’t like the idea of her leaving her new friend alone with someone the other girl didn’t know, even if it was Will.

            There was a sudden crash and a hoarse scream that echoed through the house. Hannibal was out the door at a near run with Abigail right on his heels.

            “Blood! Always blood! Blood on your hands, blood in your head. Can’t get it out. Can’t cut it out because you don’t know where to cut!” Serena was backed into the corner of the library, her words rising and falling in a cadence of panic and compulsion. Her eyes were huge and blank, unseeing even as she shrank away from Will, who was kneeling in front of her a few feet away. He looked shaky and not entirely all there himself, at a loss as to what to do. She was pale and crying and her words were too accurate to be real. Was this what he looked like when he ‘walked’ a crime scene? Was this all in his head? Would he come to himself in a couple minutes to have everyone looking at him like he was insane? He reached out a hand to her, gentle and slow, as if he were reaching for one of his strays.

            “The violence never stops,” she whispered, then shouted, “Don’t touch me! No! Nothing good! He was a monster, he hurt them, he bled them dry and took pieces with him!” Her hands fisted in her hair to the sides of her face, gripping and tugging. She squeezed her eyes shut and whimpered. “Stop! Please, make it stop! The black stag haunts your footsteps, ominous yet meaning no harm. The skin is white but the insides are pink after the blood is gone. Blood is black against the wood floor, but so very bright against a white shirt.”

            “Serena?” Abigail rushed forward, immediately giving into her basic instinct to try and physically calm the older girl. She fell to her knees a few inches closer than Will, her hands reaching to pull Serena back and away.

            Serena scrambled away from them both, moving along the wall at a surprisingly fast crawl. “No! Oh, god, don’t you see? Can’t you see? Please, don’t!” Hannibal made his move then, calmly and swiftly making his way to the hysterical young woman. He gathered her up before she could move away, holding her tightly even as she let out another hoarse scream and tried to fight him. She kicked and squirmed, bucking against his hold in the grip of sheer panic. She held a surprising amount of strength in her, but he was much stronger and was soon cradling her in a firm grip in his lap on the floor.

            Her screams died down to sobs as the solid gray that she had glimpsed before enveloped her and slowly took away the rest. She realized that he wasn’t actually hurting her. She turned her face into the solid wall of his chest and cried while he stroked her hair and made soothing nonsense sounds. “You are safe here, Serena. No harm will come to you in my care.”

            She shook her head. “You c-can’t pr-promise that.”

            “Yes, I can.” His voice was firm and he locked gazes with a shocked Will. “I do not make promises lightly. When I say you are safe with me, I mean it.”

            “Please, make it go away,” she whispered, and he loosened his hold enough so that she could move. She wrapped one arm around his waist and turned so that her face was against his shoulder. “I don’t want it anymore.”

            “I will help you,” he said and continued to stroke her hair, feeling the silken strands run through his fingers. It was as soft and thick as he had known it would be. Her scent teased him, a sandalwood and sage that had nothing to do with cosmetic perfume and everything to do with her. Beyond that, she smelled of pain and tears and a slight taint of copper. She fit against him so well, her trembling so violent it shook both of them. Abigail and Will were watching him with wide eyes, but with different viewpoints. Will was thrown back by her words, the accuracy and the power of them. She had seen what was inside the bloody turmoil of his mind, picked out the worst bits and spit them back at him with a horrifying truth.

            Abigail let go of the tears that had been building the moment she had seen the scars etched into Serena’s skin. She’d known Hannibal would help. She’d known he would know what to do. Even though Serena was the elder of the two, she seemed so much younger. Her father had been a monster, but he hadn’t actually hurt her until the very end. He had hurt others, though. He had made her help him hurt others.

            “I’m sorry,” Serena whispered, suddenly shamed by her actions. “Oh, god, I’m…” She tried to pull away from Hannibal and he resisted just enough for her to relax against him again. He wasn’t ready to let her go just yet.

            “There is nothing to worry yourself over,” he soothed, stroking the side of her face with a touch so gentle she closed her eyes again. “Rest a moment. It’s all right to stay where you are, gather your strength. I have you, you are safe.”

*~*~*


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D Thank you to everyone reading this!

*~*~*

            Will looked through the sketch book Hannibal handed him after they had taken the girls back to the sanitarium. Serena had been silent and withdrawn once everything had calmed down and she had pulled herself together. He understood her embarrassment at the loss of control, he’d felt like that often enough. It was the doctor’s reaction to her that was baffling. He had never seen the therapist so… human. He knew there were layers to everyone, so it shouldn’t have been so surprising.

            The drawings in the book were shocking in their detail and gruesomeness. There was a beauty to them in the sheer talent displayed, but it hurt him to look at them. This was what haunted the young woman’s sleep. This is what haunted his own sleep, but he was the one that put the images there by witnessing it first-hand. He was the one that invited such horrors into his own psyche. She hadn’t asked for any of it.

            “She’s very talented,” he said finally, looking up at Hannibal and leaving the book open to the last page.

            “Yes, very talented,” the doctor stood by the window, staring out at his back gardens. He had known what would happen if he left Serena and Will alone together in the library. It had been a test of sorts, a way to gage and determine more than one scenario. It had also set him up as a safe physical presence for the little psychic. He had not anticipated his own reaction to her nearness, however. The girl was twenty years his junior and had never been exposed to a gentle touch. The ones in charge of her early development had betrayed her horribly; had more than likely caused the trauma that had opened the gateway that had allowed the emergence of her ‘gift’.

            “How long has she been a resident at Port Haven?” Will spoke again, bringing him out of his thoughts.

            He turned to look at the federal agent, holding a tumbler of whiskey in one hand. He had foregone his usual wine in favor of something a little stronger. “She has been there since she was eleven. Her mother had been convinced she was possessed by demons and did her loving best to beat and starve them out of her.”

            Will was surprised again at the dry venom in the usually stoic man’s voice. “I wonder if the abuse started before the onset of her abilities.” It was said absently as he unconsciously echoed Hannibal’s own thoughts. “There are studies that show so-called psychic ability can be brought on by some kind of trauma.”

            “Do you doubt she has psychic ability?”

            “No,” Will admitted. He scowled and looked back down at the sketch pad. “I just hate the term.”

            “Understandable, seeing that you, yourself have been labeled as such.”

            “They have no clue what they’re talking about when they speak of what I do.” Will spoke in his trademark clip, fast and almost angry. “I don’t want anyone else to know what Serena can do.”

He took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes tiredly. “Especially Jack.”

            “What about our Dr. Bloom?”

            “No. Not unless she absolutely has to know. Serena isn’t a freak in a circus, and I don’t want her to be treated like one.” And that, Hannibal thought, spoke volumes about how William felt about his own capabilities.

*~*~*

            “Serena?” Dr. Harrison spoke softly into the empty solarium, knowing that her charge was hiding somewhere in the deserted depths. Everyone else was outside enjoying the rare sunshine. Serena, she knew preferred to hide away on such days, not feeling comfortable in the open air. She preferred to soak up the sun in a corner of the large array of windows with one of her beloved books and ever-present iPod.

            “Serena, you have a visitor and we need to speak with you about some important things.”

            “I’m not interested.” The husky alto answered briskly and Hannibal smiled a bit fondly. So, his mouse had a bit of a steel when she was in her element. That pleased him.

            “Hello, Serena. It is Dr. Lecter. I have brought you a gift.”

            Silence. Then she sighed, “Thank you, but bribes aren’t necessary. It’s not very often that I can hide in here when the sun is shining and the others are gone.”

            “I understand. Would you mind if I join you by the window? It is a nice day.”

            “I don’t mind.”

            He turned to the doctor, “Is it all right if I speak with Serena alone for a while? I believe I can broach the subject well enough and if I need you, I will call.”

            Looking uncertain, the older doctor hesitated before nodding finally. Dr. Hannibal Lecter was one of the most respected psychologists in Baltimore, and before that he was a highly sought out surgeon. His reputation was sterling and Serena had been in her care long enough for her to know that if the young woman didn’t want someone around, the alarm would sound. “Very well, Dr. Lecter, I’ll be back in a little while to check in and see if she has any questions. I will be in my office if there are any problems.”

            Nodding, Hannibal watched as she walked toward the door and went through, shutting it behind her. He waited until he heard the footsteps echoing down the cavernous halls before he turned back and approached the windows. He found her sitting on the floor in a patch of sunshine under a side window, a well-loved book in her hands and colorful bits of wire resting on her shoulders that he assumed were attached to her music player. She was a vision to his eyes, the sunlight glinting off the light honey brown of her hair and hitting her eyes in just the right way to make them appear more of a very pale gold than green.

            She was wearing faded and ripped oversized jeans and a large brown and green knit sweater that looked like it had seen better days. It nearly swallowed her small frame, the sleeves coming down to cover most of her fingers. She looked up at him, but didn’t smile. It was a solemn look that suited her despite his fanciful thoughts of the fae and their kin. He was surprised at himself. He wasn’t normally the type to see people in such a manner. He was very good at analyzing and seeing through most illusions that people tried to push as reality. He was fascinated that this wasn’t an illusion she was trying to portray. She didn’t have the skills to do other than be genuine. “Hello,” he repeated, quieter, as he gracefully sat on the floor opposite her.

            It was just at that golden point of the day where light was coming through all three sides of the solarium windows, but it had barely hit that apex so the light quality was still soft. “Hello,” she answered, watching him, but not warily. She was relaxed here, in her little corner of sunshine with her book and her music. It delighted him that she was more comfortable with him now and that the nervous energy that usually surrounded her was muted.

            “Your gift,” he said, offering her the wrapped package. She hesitated and slowly reached out for it. Her fingernails were bitten down to the quick and the third finger on her right hand was bloody from where she had absently torn the cuticle. She held it for a long moment and he noted the emotion that came over her face. “I hope that I have no upset you. That was not my intention at all.”

            She shook her head quickly and cleared her throat awkwardly, “I- No, you haven’t upset me. I- thank you.” The paper was a dark green with gold accents, expensive and simple with a black ribbon tied around it in a tasteful bow. Shaky fingers pulled on the end of the ribbon and slowly slipped it from the wrapping. He watched as she tucked it around the back of her neck under the weight of her hair, then pulled it up to retie it in a tiny, sloppy bow at the top of her head before sliding it around to the underside to be hidden. Lips quirking, he felt a bit of possessive warmth at her action.

            After she had carefully unwrapped the present, she stared at the white box for another minute before pulling the lid off. Inside there was a brown leather-bound book with her name stylized across the top. She lifted it out and opened the cover to find that it was high quality sketch paper and that the leather cover was just that. She could remove it and replace the paper when all the pages were filled. She suddenly found it hard to breathe.

            “Thank you.” Serena was embarrassed that her voice was thick and filled with tears over a gift. She ran her fingers over the soft leather, tracing the indent of her name reverently.

            She noticed that there was something else inside the box and hugged the journal to her chest with one arm and reached for the small book that remained. “Walt Whitman,” she said, a soft smile touching the corner of her mouth. “I don’t have a copy of this.”

            “I had hoped,” he answered warmly and she looked at him again, rewarding him with a glance of eyes shining brighter than anything else he had ever seen. And her smile, small and tremulous as it was, softened the sharp lines of her face and gave her a surprisingly more mature beauty. “I am glad you like it.”

            “Why are you here to see me, Dr. Lecter?” Serena asked him after a pause. She added, “Not that I’m protesting, I just want to know why.”

            His answer was simple, “I want to help you.”

            Her laugh was soft but too bitter to be truly heartfelt. She shook her head, “No one can help me, doctor. This is about as sane as I get, and this is after my morning meds and about four hours of isolation in a sunny corner. I’ve been here for twelve years. I think if there was a ‘cure’ for my brand of crazy, they would have found it by now.”

            “I don’t believe you are crazy, Serena,” he stated. “I believe that you have a gift that has not been addressed properly and has been wrongly diagnosed and labeled. I believe that the medications they have you on are adding to the problem instead of solving it. And I believe I can help you become more…” He searched for a brief second for the word he wanted.

            “Sane?” Serena supplied, raising her eyebrows at him.

            “Yourself,” Hannibal corrected with a patient smile.

            “But I’m not sane, Dr. Lecter. I hear voices, I have horrible nightmares, and I have uncontrollable screaming fits whenever someone touches me. Most of the time, I don’t know which side is up and which side is out. There’s a reason I haven’t been released from here. I can’t be rehabilitated.”

            “I have to disagree with you, Serena. I believe that we can work together to achieve an independent life for you, working with your abilities instead of against them. Your doctors here do not believe you are psychic.”

            She flinched at the term. Apparently she had the same aversion to it that Will had, Hannibal noted. He pushed, “Psychic ability is not something that has been clinically proven. Most of the testing on the subject was done with people who were in it for the recognition. Most truly gifted people are like yourself and reluctant to allow scrutiny. They would not purposely subject themselves to the tests and possible exploitation of their person.”

           “What are you getting at? Are you going to become my doctor here,” Serena asked, getting a little agitated at the thought of such change. She didn’t know how she felt about what he was saying. On the one hand, it gave her a glimmer of hope that she could actually have a normal life like the characters in her books. She would never be truly ‘normal’, but she…

            “No,” he answered and she took a breath to demand that he explain. She let it back out in a gasp when he continued, “I would like for you to be an inpatient at my residence. I will take over your care, with the supervision of Dr. Harrison, of course. She will be involved to make sure we are actually making progress and that you are safe with me as your caretaker. It would be on a trial basis, of course, and you may end it at any time. You are not obligated in any way.”

            Her mouth opened and closed a couple times before she shut it with a click. That was not what she had been expecting. He moved toward the middle of the space between the windows and reached out a hand. Immediately shrinking back, Serena’s eyes were wide and he could see a hint of panic rise in her breathing. “I am not going to hurt you,” he reassured, keeping his hand steady. “We have already established that I am immune to your gift, correct?”

            She stared at him and didn’t move, but he didn’t retract the offered hand. “Why? Why do you care?”

            “Because I believe that you have more potential than rotting away in this hospital.” He spoke honestly, knowing that even without her gift that she could be able to read the lie in his words. “I believe that you can offer a lot more, that you can be a lot more, and that I can do what the others could not.”

            “There’s ego in what you say,” she pointed out, but her words were so soft that there was no animosity or accusation. She slowly reached out her hand and tentatively placed it in his, ready to jerk it away again if she needed to. Her stomach was so jumpy she felt like she was going to throw up and her heart pounded hard in her throat. Fear made her cold and sent electric shivers down her spine. His hand was warm and big, swallowing hers almost entirely, but he was gentle and there was no onslaught of emotions or thoughts. It was a blessed silence and to her humiliation, she felt her face crumble as she started to cry.

            He held her hand and resisted the impulse to pull her forward, to comfort her by holding her. It wasn’t appropriate at this point, and he knew he was riding a fine line with the administrators of the hospital as it was. Any sense of impropriety would put a halt to his plans in a very big hurry. She wiped at her face with the sleeve of her sweater and he reached into his inner pocket with the hand not holding hers and pulled out a monogramed linen handkerchief. She took it and wiped at her tears, using the motion to gather herself.

            “I- I’m scared,” she admitted in a small voice, avoiding looking into his face.

            “I know.” He tucked his fingers under her chin and lifted her face so she would look at him. “You have every reason to be scared, Serena. You are going into uncharted territory with a stranger, an unknown element. You are leaving the only home you have ever known, where you feel safe and there is security. I promise you that you will be safe and I will help you develop the life skills that you need.”

            She nodded jerkily and once again, Hannibal was reminded of Will. “I can come back if I want to?”

            “Absolutely,” Hannibal assured. “Will Graham and our Abigail have standing invitations to my home, as does Dr. Alana Bloom.”

            “Abigail feels sorry for me,” Serena said. “She’s seen the scars my mother left as her legacy to me, but she hasn’t talked to me about it. It weighs on her, but she has scars of her own.”

            “I think you can help her.”

            Serena looked at him askance, cocking her head to the side. “How?”

            “By being an example, and by allowing her to speak with you about your own trauma.”

*~*~*


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for reading and commenting! :D Just knowing that someone is enjoying it is enough to get me to keep posting. Lol It's mostly written, I just have to transfer it from one laptop to another.

*~*~*

            It took two weeks to draw up the paperwork to transfer her care over to Dr. Lecter, the process made easier by the fact that she was over legal age and her assigned doctors were on board with the change. It only took a day to pack her things to move them to her new home, and only a few hours to actually move. She had closed her eyes on the drive over, her headphones in while she tried to imagine being anywhere but in transport. Going outdoors was a terror, a phobia that had been analyzed but never treated because she had been overly against it. The staff at Pine Haven had been more interested in keeping her calm and level rather than making progress in her overall health.

            Her new room was very nice, about the same size as her room at Pine Haven but much nicer. Everything was done in dark wood, from the floors to the furniture, to the crown molding that bordered the antiqued white ceiling. The bed was new and as she sat down on the edge of it, she realized that it probably had never been slept in. The bedding was forest green with a delicate gold leaf pattern threaded through the fabric. It was softer than anything she had ever slept in before.

            The books that filled the shelves that took up one entire wall were hers, put in an alphabetical order that she was going to have to redo. It didn’t really bother her having them like that, she just preferred her own way. It was easier for her to find what she wanted without having to relearn a different searching strategy. There was an entire section of shelving that was completely empty and she walked over to it and ran her hand along the dark stained wood. It was smooth and free of dust.

            Her clothes were hung up in the walk in closet, taking up a pitifully small amount of space. She never had been over enthused with fashion, keeping with her usual casual hand-me-downs. It was something she preferred over going out to buy new. The nurses would bring in clothes their teenagers had discarded and she had taken them with a quiet gratitude. The only items she allowed for them to buy for her new were underclothes and shoes. There was an allowance for her of course, Port Haven wasn’t the type of place where the residents only wore hospital gowns and robes and as a ward of the state, she was provided for. Serena just didn’t want to have to make the choices.

            She felt out of place here in the middle of all the obvious wealth, but she figured it was just one more thing she’d have to get used to. There was a knock at the door and she jumped, whirling around to stare at the mahogany door that matched the furniture. “C-Come in,” she stammered, her voice breathy. She cleared her throat and fidgeted with the sleeves of her sweater.

            Hannibal opened the door and peered in, smiling at her position in front of the shelves. “I was just coming in to check to see if you are settling in well. Dinner is nearly ready, if you are feeling up to it.” He had done away with her use of his formal title of doctor, pointing out that since they were now living under the same roof, it was a bit redundant.

            Swallowing hard, she nodded and then sighed, “I feel overwhelmed.”

            “This is only your first day here, it is all right to feel overwhelmed.” He gestured toward the bookshelves. “And you may rearrange your belongings however you would like. I just put them on the shelves to get them out of the boxes. I hope you don’t mind.”

            She looked at the neat rows and shook her head, “I don’t mind. I guess putting them alphabetically makes sense, or even putting them in sections according to genre, but I… I can’t explain my system. Method to madness is a term that’s oddly accurate in this case, isn’t it?”

            “After dinner, I would like to walk you through the house and show you all the secret passages,” he said lightly and then held his arm out for her. “Shall we?”

            She hesitated, still uncomfortable with physical contact. He was patient and she finally crossed the floor and allowed him to lightly tuck her hand into the crook of his arm.

            That night, unable to sleep, she grabbed a book to read, her sketch book, and the quilt off the bottom of the bed and went inside the huge closet. Feeling safer in the smaller space, yet highly conscious of how ungrateful it was to shun the beautiful bedroom Dr. Lecter had set up just for her, she curled up in her customary ball. The muscles of her stomach and shoulders were so tense they hurt and she huddled under the blanket. At Pine Haven, she’d been relatively sure of her surroundings. No one really pushed her, and she didn’t push at them. She didn’t remember much of the first few years after she’d come into their care. She didn’t want to remember.

            Serena focused on how she felt when she was around Dr. Lecter- Hannibal- she corrected herself. She opened the cover of her new sketchbook and close a pencil. She closed her eyes and pictured his face, fingers moving over the page before she reopened them. She thought about the gray haze of comfort that surrounded her when he was near, the peace that soothed over her always jumping nerves. She worked on the sketch until her eyes didn’t want to stay open anymore, then she carefully replaced the charcoal pencils and curled up under the blanket in the corner.

*~*~*

            Hannibal was not too surprised to find his new in-house patient’s bed empty when he went in to check on her. He stood for a moment and stared at the disturbed bed before moving to the door that led to the closet, finding it slightly ajar. His sharp eyesight found her in the back corner with her blanket and the things she chose to bring in with her. Stepping lightly, he crossed to kneel next to her, a soft smile making its way to his blank features. Her black fingertips were curled up in the dark green quilt, dirtying the fabric with smudges of charcoal. He couldn’t bring himself to be annoyed by it as he would have if it had been anyone else. Instead, he found a spark of affection.

            As he did with most emotions that made it through his barriers, he allowed it to roll through him to settle where it willed. Contrary to most who claimed to know him, he was not without emotions. He had made it a necessary habit of not catering to many, but when he did so now, he cherished the softer pangs that occasionally made it through. This was yet another sign that he had done the right thing in rescuing the kitten from her keepers.

            He touched her fingertips gently and was rewarded with a sigh that brushed his hands lightly with its warmth. Then he noted her sketchbook and picked it up, flipping to the first page, curious as to what she might have drawn. He sat back on his heels and let his eyes drift over the masterpiece. It was a portrait of him, done in her usual detailed style with sharp lines and clean shading. His estimate of the sharpness of her mind rose several notches at the accuracy of her memory and the sheer talent she exhibited. He wondered how much of it was her gift and how much of it was just a brilliant mind hidden under layers of anxious psychosis.

            He touched the small print at the bottom and his smile deepened. In a neat hand, she had printed ‘Guardian’.

*~*~*

            The figures kneeling over the foot of her bed weren’t comforting. Their hands were bound together in the praying position, palms sewn together with fishing line. A man and a woman, heads bowed, the flesh of their backs peeled up and held with more line and fish hooks seemed to hover across the bottom of her mattress. Blood pooled around her bed, soaking the end of it and her new bedding. It covered her hands and the long sleeves of the cotton shirt she slept in. It was fresh and warm against her skin, sticky and thick. Bile rose in the back of her throat at the smell of it; of death and blood and her own sweat.

            She scooted up to the top of the bed, the wood of the headboard cold against her back as she perched on top of the pillows she had heaped around her to make a nest to sleep in. She curled her legs to her chest and hugged them defensively, scared to take her eyes away from the horrible tableau surrounding her.

            The woman moved first, lifting her head so slowly that Serena wasn’t completely sure she was moving until the blank eyes were staring at her. A scream built in her chest, pulsing and pressing against her ribs in a horrible pressure. The man lowered his arms with a sickening sound of the hooks being torn from his flesh. He pulled his hands apart and more blood poured from the wounds. The scream was loosened as he stood from the kneeling position and the torn flesh of his back was ripped completely off with the movements.

            She screamed as fast as she could draw breath as he climbed up onto the foot of her bed and started crawling toward her. Frozen, she couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but shake and scream in horror as the man turned monster came closer and closer.

            He was almost to her when the scene was shattered and she was pulled out of the nightmare by strong arms and an insistent call of her name. Instinctively fighting against the unfamiliar hands, she pushed with both arms and legs to free herself. “Serena! It’s Hannibal, you are safe. No one is going to hurt you, it was a dream.” The familiar tones breached her confusion and she stopped fighting abruptly. Hyperventilating and nearly gagging on her cries, she wrapped herself around the man in her bed, not caring that she was only dressed in a long sleeved t-shirt and not much else, and that he was her doctor.

            “Don’t l-let hi-him near m-me,” she sobbed, still half in the nightmare state. She could still smell the blood and taste the tinge of sulfur and soot. “P-Please. I- I-I ca-can’t…”

            “No one is here but you and I, Serena.” Hannibal glanced around the room, seeing it as pristine as it had been when she had retired for the evening. The woman in his arms was soaked in a freezing cold sweat and shaking so violently her teeth were clicking together. He pulled her even tighter into his embrace, knowing it was solid strength that she needed. He wondered how many nightmares she had endured on her own. How many times had she woken from such terror to an empty room or orderlies ready with a sedative?

            “No! No, they weren’t angels. Not angels and not human. Blood and bone and wings and fire sewn together to make monsters. Oh, God. Hooks and wire and… and they were to watch, to keep guard but they woke up. They woke up and he broke free of the bindings and ripped his wings. He ripped the wings the other had made, ripped them off like they were nothing- like it was p-pa-paper. Oh, I’m going to be sick.” She pushed at him and he let her go, watching as she scrambled off the bed and nearly fell. But she was up and rushing for the on suite bathroom before he could get around the bed to help her. She swung the door mostly closed before retching.

            He gave her a few minutes, then went to her closet to pull out a fresh t-shirt for her, idly running his hands over the soft, comfortable fabrics she preferred. He heard the toilet flush and the water in the shower start. He put his face close to her clothing and inhaled the scent of her. Closing his eyes, he set aside the faint floral detergent used to launder them, pushed his sense of smell further to the core of her scent that still clung to the fabric.

            His lips pursed just slightly as the sandalwood came through first, a woodsy scent that baffled him and aroused his senses. Then there was the sage- lighter than the first. It was a wonderfully earthy combination that made him think again of forest sprites. There was a light thump from the bathroom and he gave one last caress to the softness and went to check on her.

            “Serena,” he called softly, rapping on the door as he listened closely. He could hear her tears over the running water and knocked again, a little louder before saying, “Serena, I am coming inside.”

            He found her curled up in a ball at the bottom of the cavernous tub, knees drawn up and her head down while the water cascaded over her, the temperature too hot and reddening her fair skin. He moved first to grab an oversized towel from the rack across the wall, then to shut off the water. “I am going to get you out of the shower,” he told her, his voice very gentle but clear. He didn’t want to startle her. Using the towel, he wrapped it across her back and then toward the front. She lifted her head and looked at him with a stark, hopeless expression. She allowed him to tuck the towel under her arms. Shivering now that the hot water wasn’t pounding on her, she huddled into the absorbent cloth.

            “I want to carry you back to your bedroom,” he said, still so gently that it made her breath hitch on a hiccup. A new wash of tears flowed and she nodded even as he was reaching for her. He lifted her effortlessly out of the bathtub, holding her firmly against his chest.

            “I don’t want to sleep,” she said shakily when he set her down on the edge of the mattress. She threw a furtive glance toward the foot of the bed and then quickly moved her line of sight down to her fingertips, which were toying with the hem of the towel.

            “You don’t have to sleep,” he assured her. “Let us get you dressed so you are a little warmer.” He held out her t-shirt and her face flamed when she realized that she was naked and he had seen her that way.

            He chuckled but it didn’t sound derogatory or snide. “I was a medical doctor before I was a psychiatrist, Serena, I have seen many people unclothed.”

            It still didn’t make her feel any better, but she took the t-shirt and moved to her dresser to grab fresh underclothes. Stepping back into the bathroom, she quickly changed and came back. She was relieved to see that he was still there. He sat on the edge of her bed with a book in his hands and beckoned her over. “Come, climb into the blankets and I will read to you.”

            “Don’t you need to sleep,” she asked, her embarrassment over the entire situation still evident. It was a small consolation to know that he had known what he was getting into with taking over her care. She'd been there for nearly two weeks and he'd been slowly lowering the dosages of her old medication. Serena was surprised that it had taken this long for her to have one of the really bad night terrors. “It’s two in the morning and I’m sure you have things to do tomorrow.”

            “The beauty of having my own private practice is that I make my own hours. I rarely take appointments before ten. I promise that you are not keeping me from my rest.”

            “You make a lot of promises,” she stated, but climbed under the blankets that he held up for her. “Are you sure you can keep them?”

            “Like I said before, I rarely make promises I cannot keep.”

            “Rarely,” she repeated but sighed and allowed herself to sink into the soft mattress. He moved to sit against the headboard, his legs stretched out on top of the comforter. He let her settle where she felt most comfortable and was pleasantly surprised when she rested against his side. Lifting his arm, he took a deep but discreet breath as she rested her head on his lower shoulder. “I really don’t want to sleep.”

            “I will watch over you,” he told her and she shuddered.

            “That’s what their job was,” she whispered. “To watch and guard. But it was wrong and he…” She shook her head and turned her face into the silk of Hannibal’s pajama shirt. He stroked the back of her hair and then opened the book and started reading.

            It was less than twenty minutes before he felt her body slowly relax back into sleep. He read a couple more pages before silently closing the cover. Her breath was even and warm, teasing his skin through the material of his pajamas. He sat for a long time, running his fingers through her drying hair. It was going to be a tangled mess when she woke up in the morning. She moved in her sleep, little movements that spoke of the nervous energy that still entangled inside her compact form. It had increased as her medication dosage had gone down. Her fingers toyed with the buttons on his shirt, idly and sleepily turning the small, flat mother of pearl orbs on their threads first one way, then the other.

            Hannibal touched the scars that littered her thin arms, a muscle ticking in his jaw at the sight. There were too many, too varied. Most had faded to nearly invisible white strips of scar tissue, but there were some that were still pink and puckered even twelve years after the fact. It spoke of wounds not treated, cuts and burns and scratches that were too deep to heal on their own but left to fester and hurt. He had seen hints of the ones on her back. A slow anger had started, a rage that was effortlessly pushed down to the appropriate place until it was time to deal with it. And he would deal with it.

            He finally slid out from her sleeping grasp and slowly tucked her back into the bedclothes. He moved silently and used a light touch as to not wake her, then pressed a breath of a kiss to her temple. She sighed and burrowed deeper into the warmth of her bed, sleeping the slumber of the truly exhausted.

*~*~*

*~*~*


	5. Chapter 5

 

            Hannibal showed Will the drawing of the ‘angels’ that Serena had seen in her nightmare. As a part of her continued therapy, he encouraged her to continue sketching her dreams; nightmares or otherwise. It was nearly a week after her night terror and he had been making strides in weaning her off her medications. It wasn’t something that could be done overnight and she was even more jumpy and agitated than before. Right at the moment, she was slowly walking the gardens with Abigail, who had been given permission to spend the weekend at Hannibal’s home. It was as if now he had the okay for one, they figured it was all right for Abigail as well.

            The doctor was encouraging the two girls to spend time together, to become friends. Abigail had her own secrets that would eventually come to light, but Hannibal was certain that it would be good for the teenager to have a confidant. He was curious to see if eventually Serena could discern the truth about the young woman whose father had done such horrible things. Would she see Garret Jacob Hobbs as the monster, or would she see Abigail in his place? Would she see Hannibal through Abigail’s eyes? A part of him said that this was a foolish game he was playing, that there were too many people on the line. But it was a small part, and the rest of him was relishing the feeling of danger mixed with the certain knowledge that of them all, Will Graham was still his biggest threat.

            Will looked over the details of the sketch, the bed with the mutilated man and woman strung up and fixed into a grotesque parody of guardian angels. It was from the perspective of the person on the bed in front, so their faces were agonizingly clear. Their heads weren’t bowed like they had been when he’d witnessed the scene. They were lifted and their eyes were open and staring with a malice that shouldn’t have been conveyed with charcoal pencils. The man’s face was smiling, his lips curved up in a mocking, horrific smirk. His hands were in the process of being pulled apart, the flesh dripping with blood as he ripped the stitches placed there with fishing line. Flames rose up behind them, etched and shaded with an expert hand.

            He felt sick. “You took her off her medication?”

            “I am in the process, yes,” Hannibal acquiesced with a nod. He stood by the window, looking out over the walled garden that stretched out behind his home. He had paid handsomely for the near acre plot out of the main bustle of the small city. His clients didn’t mind driving the extra ten minutes to see him in his home office, but he had a townhome in the downtown area of Baltimore for some who couldn’t bring themselves to drive so far. He had a habit of scheduling all of those appointments for the same two day period. He used the townhome for other reasons as well, for his other hobby. “I cannot do it all at once or there is a threat of withdrawal.”

            “Do you think she has a link with these kinds of things in general, or is it just the ones I’m involved in,” Will asked, setting the book down on the desk.

            “I am not sure,” Hannibal admitted. “The cases you are involved in are the worst of the worst, Will. I am not surprised that she is picking up on them.”

            “So there could be other… visions… that we won’t know about until…” his voice trailed off at the horror of the thought. “Is there anything you can do to stop it, to help her block it out so she didn’t have to see it anymore?”

            “If I could, I would. I dislike seeing her suffer.” Hannibal’s sharp eyes caught sight of the girls, both bundled up against the growing cold. Serena was wearing a coat, hat, and gloves he had purchased for her when he realized that she didn’t have any kind of cold weather clothing. She had argued, saying that she hadn’t had a reason for it because she hated going outside. He had insisted, firmly stating that she would have great need of it as their therapy progressed. He intended to incorporate more outdoor activity to work on her physical health. She had displayed the first real hint of stubbornness over that assessment, firming her jaw in a look that told him exactly how she felt about his idea. In the end, his logic had prevailed and she had been coerced into stepping into the garden.

            He remembered the way she had balked at the door, her coat buttoned up over a layer of sweater and gloves. She had been pale and her eyes had turned dark with real fear. “I don’t like it outside,” she had whispered. “It’s too big. I like being in small places. I can hide better inside. If no one can find me…” Her voice had trailed off, but Hannibal had mentally finished the sentence for her: _If no one can find me, then no one can hurt me._

            “I will be right beside you. If anyone or anything comes to harm you, they would have to come through me first.” She hadn’t looked reassured by that, but she had finally followed him out the French doors to the back walled garden.

            He felt Will move up beside him and they both watched the girls move through the garden paths toward the tall brick fence that ensconced the backyard. He was very glad he had spared no expense for landscaping, making his home as private as a country estate while still being within city limits.

*~*~*

            “I miss seeing you,” Abigail told Serena as they walked. She looked over at the smaller woman and smiled a little at the color in her cheeks. “You look good though.”

            Serena snorted and hunched into the fitted coat Hannibal had insisted on. She was grateful that he had ignored her protests now, though. She was cold and the air bit at her bare face and neck, but it actually felt all right. She felt so exposed outside, everything was so big and open. It was almost as if she was set adrift with nothing to hide behind; the sky too big overhead and too many places for others to sneak up on her. Her skin was jumpy and there were fine tremors going down her spine and down into her arms, but she forced herself to at least try to act as normal as possible. Her eyes scanned the huge brick fence that enclosed the back property and she was glad of it. It gave her the illusion of security. No one was going to get in without considerable trouble and that was a bit of comfort. She inhaled deep of the crisp air and glanced at Abigail. “Are you upset that I left?”

            Abigail looked surprised at the question. “Why would I be upset? I’m really glad you’re here with Dr. Lecter. I wish I could home here with you because Port Haven sucks really bad, but I’m not mad that you got out. I think he’s going to help you get better.”

            “Abby, there’s no getting better for me,” Serena sighed, kicking at a random rock that was lying in their path. She had shorted Abigail’s name, feeling that it would be good to do something different from everyone else. It was a silly thing, but once her companion had bullied past her reluctance to have someone so close, it had felt right to accept the familiarity of friendship. “I’ll never be completely ‘there’. I’m giving this thing with Hannibal a try because what do I have to lose? He’ll see eventually that I’m a lost cause and he’ll put me back in my room at Port Haven.”

            “You can’t believe that, Serena, not really.”

            “Yes, I can.” Serena’s clear eyes cut over the well maintained yard they were traipsing through. She shuddered and wished they were back inside. Her skin felt like it was trying to crawl off her flesh, tingling and itching with unease. Avoiding looking up at the open sky overhead, she instead counted the minutes until she could go back into the house and find her quiet corner. “I have this thing, Abby, and no amount of therapy is going to get rid of it.”

            “I know.” The softly spoken words made Serena stop in her tracks and stare up into Abigail’s pale face. “I was there when you…”

            “When I freaked out with Will Graham.”

            “Yeah.”

            “Why are you still standing here with me?” Tears made her vision swim and she blinked to clear it.

            “Because I feel like I’m going to freak out if I don’t talk to someone,” Abigail confessed, her own words thick. “I trust you. You’ll know the truth about me and you won’t think I’m a monster.”

            Serena shook her head and hunched her shoulders, wrapping her arms around herself in her habitual defensive stance. “I don’t want to know the way I know what’s in Will’s head, Abby. I can’t add that to the pile of flesh and bone already there.”

            “I don’t want you to know the way you know what’s in Will’s head,” Abigail whispered. “I want to tell you.”

*~*~*

            After dinner, Serena and Abigail both helped in the kitchen to clean up while Will spoke on the phone with Jack. “Is he going to tell anyone about my ‘gift’?” Serena spoke the last word with a hint of sarcasm but watched Hannibal place the clean dishes in the high cupboard, waiting for him to turn around so she could see his face when he answered.

            He caught her eye and shook his head. “No. He doesn’t want anyone else knowing unless there is no other choice. Jack Crawford-“

            “My boss,” Will supplied, coming through the kitchen door. Serena moved to the opposite side of the counter, closer to Hannibal and further away from him. The profiler hesitated for a moment, the action not lost on him. “He’s the type to use everything at his disposal to stop the murderers. There’s very little room in his world for sympathy.”

            “He is not a bad man,” Hannibal said, touching the back of Serena’s hand that was fidgeting with the towel she was holding. She had been bunching it up and smoothing it out in nervous habit, an indication that she wasn’t quite as calm as she appeared. She was making progress already and it was obvious that he had been correct about her medications. “But he sees things in a very practical way.”

            “Which is to use whatever tool he has on hand to catch the sick bastards that troll the streets.” Will sounded bitter. He stood watching the interaction between Hannibal and his patient, seeing the casual way the older man guided the young sensitive. Instead of feeling weird about it, it relieved Will that Serena had someone she could trust. There wasn’t much of that in her life, he thought. She’d been adrift for a long time without the comfort of another person in her life. He wished there was something he could do for her, to help in some way. It hurt just a little that the best thing he could do was keep his distance.

            “Serena’s not a tool,” Abigail piped up, straightening from where she was wiping down the stove. She eyed him and added, “Neither are you.”

            He smiled at her, a little flash of charm before he turned to look at Hannibal, “I need to go to the morgue. I’ll see you later.”

            Hannibal nodded and watched as he left before turning to the girls. “What do you two think about watching a movie?”

            “You have movies?” Abigail looked playfully shocked, laughing when he raised his eyebrows at her. “Sorry, but I thought you were too proper to have a movie collection. What kinds of movies do you have?”

*~*~*

            Later, Serena sat in the corner of the loft in Hannibal’s library, her knees drawn up so she could rest her chin on the top of them. A heavy volume was open on the floor in front of her and she was absorbed in the words that flowed across the white pages. After their movie, which wasn’t a dry documentary like Abigail had feared, Serena had made the excuse to go to her room. A couple hours later, she’d come back downstairs when she hadn’t been able to sleep. Restless and brimming with too much energy, she had slipped into the library and quickly got lost in the smell and feel of the volumes inside. It seemed that she had something in common with the doctor- their love of reading.

            “There you are.” Serena jumped and accidentally kicked the book in front of her, losing her place and sending it skidding a few inches across the thin carpet. She looked up, startled.

            “I- I couldn’t sleep,” she said and lowered her head again, reaching out to pull the book back into its position, straightening it and closing the cover with minimal sound. “I hope you don’t mind.”

            “This is your home now too, Serena,” Hannibal told her, moving to sit down next to her, his back against the wall. He had been sitting on the floor a lot more recently but he didn’t mind. It was another habit of hers that was endearing in a way. She felt more comfortable the less visible she was, so she found out of the way and unconventional places to sit. “You are welcome to my library at any time.”

            “Thank you.” They lapsed into silence and after a couple minutes, she said, “Abigail wants to tell me what happened to her.”

            “How do you feel about that?”

            She shrugged and rested her chin on her knees again, left hand opening and closing the book in front of her absently. “I don’t know. I told her that I don’t want to know the same way that I know what’s in Will’s head. There’s too much that’s not mine already and I don’t want to keep any more than I have to.”

            “That is a valid and healthy answer.”

            “I want to help her, but I don’t know if I can. I’m not good at being a friend. I haven’t done it before.”

            “If you haven’t done it before, how do you know if you are good at it or not,” Hannibal reasoned.

            “Because I…” she sighed. “I don’t know. I don’t want to let anyone in. If I let her in, eventually something will happen and she’ll look at me the same way everyone else does; like I’m a freak. She’ll be scared of me and I can’t blame her for it.”

            “I do not look at you like you are a freak,” he pointed out and she smiled sadly at him, turning her face so that her cheek was resting against her knees.

            “That’s because you’re determined to fix the freakishness that defines me.” Sobering, she continued, “I hope you don’t realize that it’s a lost cause, Hannibal. I’m beginning to like having someone care about me.”

            “I am stubborn,” he told her, giving in to his need to wrap his arm around her shoulders. “And I do not give up easily. Besides, I know that I cannot fix you, Serena. I cannot close that door in your mind that allows your abilities. But I can help you with the tools to cope with them and to deal with the trauma that comes from them.”

            “Still,” she said, leaning into his warmth. “It’s only a matter of time.”

*~*~*


	6. Chapter 6

            Rubbing alcohol stung her nostrils and her gloved hands knew what they were doing as she hooked up the monitors that made sure her patient’s heart and lungs were working properly. He was restrained to the gurney, security measures even though the man was out cold. She was very good at her job, keeping calm even with the most violent of residents. This one she had treated before and he had been courteous, even flirtatious as she had taken blood pressure and done the random checkup. She was relaxed and unhurried as she turned to ready the IV, his heart rate was good and his breathing, though shallow and irregular, wasn’t in the danger zone by any means. Once she had him hooked up and more or less stable, she would call the medical doctor on staff to come in.

            The shrill sound of the heart monitor flat-lining made her stop and turn, expecting her patient to be shackled to the bed. She had a split second to experience the rush of terror before his fist slammed into her throat. Pain burst and radiated from her crushed windpipe down to her chest as she tried and failed to bring in breath. His face was satisfied and smiling as he reached out and grabbed the material at the shoulders of her uniform and swung her around, throwing her to the hard floor.

            He straddled her waist, shushing her in a mocking manner because she couldn’t make any kind of sound. She couldn’t scream, couldn’t move past the pain in her throat. He straightened her, pulled her head forward. There were two faces that stared down at her with such malice; an older, heavier man with short dark hair and dark eyes that gleamed with gleeful mania. And Will.

            Will’s face was the last thing she saw before he placed his thumbs over her eyes and pressed. This new pain overwhelmed everything else, worse than the crushed larynx, worse than anything else she had ever experienced. She felt her own blood pool and run down the sides of her head, soaking her hair and the floor underneath. Turning over on her stomach, she tried to crawl away. Her body was on automatic, survival instincts working despite her brain shorting out through the trauma. Her hands reached bare feet and she touched them, wanting to cry out so badly, but it was impossible. Then there was another fresh rush of agony as something pierced her shoulder at an angle, ripping through bone and flesh like it was nothing.

            “Serena!” The sharp sound of Hannibal’s voice brought her out and she found herself cowering in the corner of his library, arms raised to cover her head defensively. She felt him touch her arms, gently bringing them down. She pushed at him, heaving great gulps of breath into her starved lungs. She had effectively put herself in the corner and she had no way to get out, to get away. She couldn’t see, her eyes weren't working right away. “Serena, it was just a nightmare, you are safe. No one is hurting you.”

            She tried to speak, but couldn’t. Her voice wasn’t working properly either, all she could do was gasp for breath and cry. Hannibal’s voice was familiar and it finally broke through enough for her to recognize him. She launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face in his neck. He knelt on the floor and held her, stroking the back of her head and shoulders. He looked up at Will Graham and Jack Crawford, who had been with him in his study speaking of their adventures at the Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane, when they had heard a crash and a cry from the library.

            “Shh,” he soothed, picking her up to carry her to the sofa where he tried to set her down, but she wouldn’t let go. He sat down with her in his lap, ignoring the incredulous and curious gaze directed at the both of them. She was having trouble breathing and he worried she might be in danger of hyperventilating. “You are here with me, Serena.”

            “It’s not him,” she whispered against the skin of his neck. Her voice sounded strange, strangled and breathy. He pushed her shoulders back to look at her closer and saw that her throat was swollen as if she’d hit it on something. He touched it gently and she flinched back. “It’s not Will. It looks like him, but it’s not. It’s not, Hannibal, I know it’s not.”

            “What is the meaning of this?” Jack demanded, his deep baritone making both Serena and Will jolt. “What does she mean?”

            “Agent Crawford, now is not the time,” Hannibal said firmly, a note of warning in his tone. “Will, please show Jack back to the study. I will rejoin you shortly.”

            “I know the way,” Jack snarled and turned on his heel to stalk out, radiating anger as he went.

            “Serena.” The young woman flinched again at the sound of Will’s voice, gentle as it was, and his shoulders slumped at the sight of it. He locked eyes with Hannibal in mute apology before following his boss. He knew exactly what she had seen.

            “Tell me,” Hannibal said once they were alone and the door to the library was closed. He pulled her close again and she rested her head on his shoulder. She was still shaking, fine tremors moving through her body like electric currents. Her hands bunched in his shirt under his jacket and vest, fingers scraping lightly against the skin of his back.

            “It was different,” she said, sounding strained. “It wasn’t like I was outside looking in. I was _her_ , I was the one taking care of the patient. I was the one hooking him up to the monitors. I was the one watching as he hit me…” She touched a shaking hand to her aching throat.

            “Go slowly.”

            She nodded and closed her eyes.

            “He was s-standing behind me. I didn’t have a lot of t-time before he struck. He hi-hit me in the throat, hard. I felt something break. It hurt so badly I cou-couldn’t think past it. Then he threw… threw me down and straddled my waist, pulling my h-head forward so that I was looking at h-him.” Her voice cracked and he closed his eyes, lowering his face down to rest on the top of her head.

            “I-it wasn’t Will, and then it was Will. I saw his face as he… as he pushed his thumbs through my eyes.”

            “It wasn’t Will,” Hannibal assured her. “Our William does not have it in him to be so brutal.” Not to you, little one, he added silently.

            “I know,” she whispered. Her voice steadied, “My mind shorted out after that, tingles of electric agony going through my head in bright bursts of light. But my body was on auto-survival mode. Once his weight was off me, I tried… I tried to crawl away. My arms weren’t working ri-right, but I managed to go a few feet before I ran into his legs. I touched his bare feet, they were cold and big. I… I felt another wave of… of pain as something s-stabbed through my shoulder blade and angled down to s-scrape out the bottom.”

            Hannibal let her fall silent and just held her until she was ready. After a couple minutes, she spoke again, “That was Jack, wasn’t it? Will’s boss? Now he knows about me.” She sounded more terrified of the FBI supervisor than she was of the horrific vision she’d just endured.

            “He will not have access to you,” Hannibal stated. He let her go when she pushed away. Her face was pale with two bright spots of color in her cheeks, her eyes shone and her lips quivered.

            “I can’t do what Will does,” she said anxiously, her shoulders tight as she realized the enormity of what had just happened. “I- I- I can’t.”

            “You will not have to,” Hannibal cupped her face in his hands and steadied her. He stared into her eyes and put as much emotion into his as he could. It wasn’t as hard as he thought it would be. He genuinely cared for the girl, and the realization of those feelings surprised him. He had felt fondness for others before, he had felt amused and at times charmed. But he had never been protective over them. He had never felt this… He pushed it down for the time being as he did with most emotions that he wasn’t prepared to deal with. He would examine it later.

            “But-,” Serena started but he stopped her by shaking his head.

            “No, I will not allow Jack Crawford to use you in such a manner. You are not to be put through unnecessary heartache. I am taking my duties for you very seriously, Serena.”

            She nodded and he released her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I feel an affection for you that I am quite unprepared for,” he admitted softly. “Are you feeling well enough to face the questions? Would you rather I speak for you while you rest?”

            “You won’t leave me?”

            “I will be with you, and I will protect you.” It was her fragility, he realized, that had endeared her to him so quickly and firmly. Her absolute need of him, her reliance on him to be everything that had been denied to her as a child and as a woman, spoke to the primal part of him that was so directly tied into his other self. She called to the hidden hunter, but not as prey. She was more than just a novelty, a project to keep him from boredom. He would have to go over that thought process later in more detail when he was alone.

            She nodded and took a breath, letting it out slowly. “It’s probably best for me to try to explain as much as I can. I think I’ve hidden enough.”

            “I am proud of you.”

            Surprise crossed her face and he was rewarded with a slight smile. “Progress?”

            “Progress.”

*~*~*

            “What you’re saying is that you ‘see’ what Will is doing? The crime scenes as they are happening?”

            Serena shrank into Hannibal’s side at the intense glare of the big man sitting across the table from her. “I…” She glanced over at Will, who looked like a kicked puppy. Guilt was written all over his expression and posture and she felt a stab of guilt herself. “I know it wasn’t you.”

            He looked up at her and his blue eyes were stark and troubled behind his glasses. “I don’t even know it wasn’t me, Serena. How can you be so sure?”

            “I saw someone else before it was you,” she told him. “He was older and heavier, and his eyes were empty and dark.”

            “But it was me you saw as I… we… destroyed your eyes.”

            She nodded and twisted the button on the front of her sweater. She pulled her bare feet up into the chair she was sitting on, then wrapped her arms around her legs. Hannibal eyed her bare toes and said softly, “I thought you were going to start wearing socks. It is too cold for bare feet.”

            “As a distraction, it barely registers,” she told him, but half-smiled anyway. “I like the carpet.”

            “Start from the beginning,” Jack demanded, looking from Will to Serena, to Hannibal, scowling. He turned the accusation to his subordinate, “You knew about this?”

            Will nodded, avoiding eye contact.

            “It was my fault, Jack,” Hannibal took the blame easily, knowing he could withstand the agent’s ire better than his accomplice. “Serena is my patient and she has extraordinary abilities that we are attempting to help her control. She is a touch clairvoyant and there was a mishap the first night she was here.”

            “Meaning I didn’t know and there was…” Will sighed, glancing across at Serena again. It was easier to look at her than it was to look at Jack. “I didn’t realize.”

            “I don’t understand why you didn’t share this with me. This could help us in so many ways. She is like the counterpoint to your-“

            “No,” Hannibal said firmly, cutting him off mid-stride. “I will not have Serena subject to any more of this than she already is.”

            “Agent Crawford,” Serena said quietly, stopping the storm of words Jack was about to let loose. She looked at him with her unusual eyes glowing an almost translucent green in the dim light. “I can’t do what Will does. I can’t help you. I- I don’t want to go back to the way it was. I’m starting to get stronger and maybe one day I can help you, but…”

            “Not now,” Jack finally let go with a sigh.

            “Thank you,” she whispered, then turned to Hannibal. She was exhausted and finished. “I’m going up to my room.”

            He nodded and told her gently, “I will come and check on you later.” She unfolded from her chair and left without saying anything else.

            “I’m not a monster,” Jack said after she left the room, a lot of his fire dampened as he realized exactly what he was pushing for. This thing with the Chesapeake Ripper was getting to him. “I’m sorry. I can see that she’s not stable enough to take on the responsibility.”

            “Jack, _I’m_ barely stable enough to take on the responsibility of what we do,” Will stated. “Serena’s not as strong as I am. She’s getting stronger by the day because of Dr. Lecter, but she’s still very fragile. And what she does and what I do are two very different things.”

            “Will, you are not responsible for the connection you two share.”

            Will stared at Hannibal for a moment and then blinked, shaking his head briefly. “I can’t help but think that if I wouldn’t have… if there hadn’t been a physical contact, she wouldn’t be dreaming this now.”

            “You forget that she was dreaming of your world before you even met,” Hannibal pointed out, drawing Jack’s interest.

            “What do you mean, she was dreaming of this before you met?”

            Hannibal thought for a very long moment, pursing his lips before standing up to go into his library for the first of Serena’s sketch pads, the one he had taken the first time they had met. He knew the supervisory agent wouldn’t let it be until he knew exactly what Serena could do. He was holding to his promise to not allow them to use her in their crime detection. If and when she did, it would be her own doing, in her own time; in accordance with his own devise.

            Jack’s face smoothed out when he saw the crime scenes in agonizing detail, scanning and taking inventory of every nuance. “She’s been locked up for how long?”

            “Twelve years,” Hannibal stated. A muscle ticked in annoyance. He resented the casual way Jack spoke of Serena’s time at Port Haven, and he resented the suspicion in the other man’s words. “She has been under the care of the doctors at Pine Haven Sanitarium since she was eleven years old, you may check her records. We have made great strides in our therapy, she is doing so well both mentally and physically. The girl you saw just now is not the same girl that I pulled out of her room at the hospital. This is only a fraction of the journey, Agent Crawford. I will not allow her to backslide into the hollow, nervous mess that I met a mere two months ago.”

            “Okay, okay,” Jack held out his hands in surrender. “I get it, Dr. Lecter. I get it. I will be looking into her records at the hospital, if you don’t mind, but I believe you. There is no way she could have been involved in all of these cases. We apprehended the perpetrator in all of them so far anyway.”

            “I believe I will go check on my patient now, so if you don’t mind.” Hannibal stood up and reached to shake Jack’s hand.

            Will was already almost to the door to the study when Hannibal asserted, “I will see you tonight for our conversation, Will?”

            “Yeah, I’ll be here,” Will replied but didn’t look back.

*~*~*


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for the support of this fic!!! :D That said, this chapter deals with some of Serena's past with her mother, so it gets quite graphic and mentions severe child abuse.

*~*~*

            Serena was sitting on the window seat in her room, curled up with a quilt from the foot of her bed. She was freezing cold, despite the warmth of the room and the soft blanket. She had changed into her sleep shirt and had added a pair of colorful long socks that covered her knees. Her throat had stopped hurting, but her head was killing her. Her eyes ached and she found it hard to focus on the book she had selected to try to get her mind off the vision she’d been assaulted with. She closed them and pressed her fingertips to the closed lids, relieved for a split second that they were still there. It was late enough to go to sleep, yet she couldn’t bring herself to try.

            This entire episode had been different from the start. She hadn’t been sleeping; she’d been haunting Hannibal’s library, searching for something new to read. She had found a volume of H.P. Lovecraft and had found it marginally appealing. It was darker than what she usually went for, but it wasn’t a strange concept. It wasn’t something in her collection, but she had read a few of his short stories before. She had settled into her favorite corner to read, flipping through the stories until she ran across one that looked intriguing.

            The words had started to fade out and then she was sucked into the nightmare alternate reality. It wasn’t like it had been before, it was clearer somehow, and infinitely more painful. She had felt every emotion, every shocked gasp, and every injury. She had been the unfortunate nurse, and she had died like her. Or she would have if Hannibal hadn’t pulled her back out again. Serena wondered if she would have died for real if she’d been left to see it out to the end. Now _that_ was a thought that made her never want to sleep again.

            She jumped at the soft knock on her bedroom door and stared silently as it opened, admitting Hannibal, who was carrying a large cup of steaming liquid. “I brought you hot chocolate.”

            She relaxed only marginally and reached out an arm to take the cup when he got close enough. She changed her posture, crossing her legs under her instead of hugging them. “Thank you.” The warmth felt good against her icy hands. She bowed her head to inhale the fragrant steam.

            “How are you feeling?”

            “My head hurts and I still have the urge to feel my eyes to see if they’re still intact,” she answered honestly, looking up at him as he took the seat next to her.

            “I will get you some asprin,” he said, moving to stand back up.

            She stopped him, reaching out to touch the back of his hand. “Please, not yet.”

            “All right.”

            They sat for a long time on the cushioned window seat before she spoke again, “It’s changing. Getting stronger, maybe.”

            “You are getting stronger,” he said gently. “Maybe your abilities are morphing around the lack of medication. You are clearer, so now they are as well.”

            “I don’t know if I like this change,” Serena admitted softly. “I don’t want to go back to the way it was before, but this… I had the thought that I might have died with her if you hadn’t pulled me out in time.”

            “I have an idea for a solution to your fear,” he said after a long moment. “But I need to do some research first.”

            She smiled and took a long sip of the hot chocolate. “I would like to start working with your ability, Serena, to explore what triggers it, to find a way to guide you through it and a way to pull you out of your vision state without the jarring abruptness. By understanding it more, we can control it better and make it less traumatic.”

            She was silent for a long moment, staring down into the steaming mug. Her shoulders lifted and fell in a deep sigh and he waited patiently. Finally, she made eye contact and nodded. “I guess I was hoping we could just get rid of it; just make it go away. But that’s wishful thinking, isn’t it?”

            “My opinion is that we can make it more of a tool than a burden.” He stroked her hair, tucking a long strand behind her ear. He was not much of the type for physical contact, in fact he was rather adverse to it in normal social interactions. However, with Serena it had started out a something that she desperately needed that only he could provide because of his immunity to her gifts, and then morphed into something beneficial to both of them. He was becoming enamored of the feel of her, and it was a rush knowing that he was the only one she was willing to allow so close. She let her guard down with him and he was allowed inside when everyone else was pushed violently away. “We can reduce the terror of the experience by controlling it.”

            She nodded wearily and leaned into his touch. She wanted to cry again and she was tired of crying. A feeling of hopelessness washed over her and she tried to huddle into herself again. Sensing the downturn of her mood, Hannibal took her hot chocolate out of her hands and set it on the nightstand next to her bed. “Come along, and I shall read to you until you sleep.”

            Slowly she got to her feet, muscles aching in protest. She might not have been physically assaulted, but her body was acting like it had been. Her bad knee seized up and she froze mid-step, closing her eyes against the sharp pain. It shot up and down her leg, going to all points and then back to the source. Without any warning, she felt herself being lifted and set back on the window seat. She grit her teeth as the pain intensified as her leg was bent, and then there was the warmth of a hand underneath the hollow where her knee met her thigh.

            Hannibal’s other hand cradled her foot and he slowly straightened her leg. She quit breathing, her hands bunching into the sides of her nightshirt. Gradually, he pushed up with a steady but gentle pressure on her heel and settled the joint back into the socket. There was a sickening pop and a burst of agony before it eased down to a throb.

            “Rest here, I will return,” Hannibal touched her temple softly and disappeared. She trembled in the aftermath, trying to breathe correctly.

             Hannibal kept his word and returned almost before she realized he was gone. He handed her two small white pills and a glass of juice. “A muscle relaxer and a painkiller, they will help.” She hesitated, then tossed them back and drained the cup of juice.

            “Thank you,” she said on a breath of sound, handing him back the cup. Her voice wobbled and her breath caught on a sob. “I hate this.”

             “Slowly we will build on your physical health as well. You are already stronger than you were before, and you are gaining strength daily.”

             She nodded, but self-hatred surged along with the emotions that came with the reminders of her physical limitations, boiling together into a riot of horrible that leaked out as a mini-meltdown. Squeezing her eyes shut, she buried her face in her hands and tried to hide the escalating upset. “Serena, there is no need to be ashamed of your emotions,” Hannibal told her and she could feel him kneeling down in front of the window seat, putting his large frame more at her level. “I do not judge you, nor do I pity you.”

             “H-how can you stand this? How ca-can you be around someone so br-broken? It… i-it isn’t just my mind that’s all screwed up, Ha-Hannibal. It’s everything.” Her face when she lowered her hands was pale and wet, her eyes red-rimmed and swimming with the overflow. “I’m n-nothing but a sca-scarred up m-mess.”

             Her breathing was becoming erratic and Hannibal stood up to take the seat next to her. He put his arm around her and tucked her into his side. It was a comfortable feeling for him, a nice overlay of her soft trembling form melting so trustingly into his, and a surge of protectiveness that was a rather novel sensation. He recognized that it was only with her that he felt this way. Physical comfort provided by others was not something he allowed for himself; the affairs he had engaged in had not been about intimacy but a healthy release of tension and endorphins. Whatever was building with his patient was not falling into his normal relation pattern.

             “Serena,” he murmured and pressed his lips to the side of her head, inhaling deep of the spiced scent of her hair and salty tears. “There is nothing pitiable about you, or what you have overcome.”

             “There h-has to be something wrong w-with me,” she whispered. “Why… why would someone… my o-own…” her voice cracked and she turned into him, wrapping her arms around him as the hysteria completely took over and she couldn’t speak.

              He made nonsense noise, humming soothing sounds while he cradled her and stroked her back. Letting her cry to get it out of her system was important and he knew it was only a matter of time before emotional exhaustion and the medication he gave her kicked in and she would be out. This was the first time she had implied how she felt about her mother’s abuse. She hadn’t been able to finish speaking of it, that particular trauma too harsh to acknowledge for her. It had been triggered by her knee seizing up so painfully- a permanent injury caused by a woman who didn’t deserve the air she sucked into greedy lungs.

              Serena eventually cried herself to sleep, relaxing slowly as everything took its toll and she finally gave in. “Sleep, my girl,” he whispered and carried her to her bed. After tucking her under the comforter, he lay down next to her and watched her sleep, running his fingers through her hair while his cunning mind started planning. He had research to do and resources to pool. The woman that had given Serena her marks was going to have a visitor very soon.

*~*~*

            Everything was dark, the space small and the familiar smell of mold and stale cleaning supplies made her throat close up with old terror. She made herself as tiny as possible, curling up in a ball of bony limbs and too little flesh. Her stomach hurt from being empty for so long, but that was nothing compared to the fresh welts crisscrossing her back and legs. Her breath hitched on an uncontrollable sob that was nothing more than a whimper of a sound, but she bit her lip to keep even that microscopic noise inside.

            She didn’t want Momma to come back. The older Serena inside the child recoiled violently at the jarring shock of this old memory. She wasn’t here anymore; she wasn’t as fragile and as breakable as she used to be. She shouldn’t have to relive this again and again and again. It had been so long since the last time she’d dreamed of her mother, but this sickness was far from being unfamiliar.

            The door slammed open suddenly, flying open so hard that it crashed into the outside wall with a loud crash. The child jolted and tried to push herself back farther into the depths of the closet, but she was already as far back as she could manage. Everything was hyper-focused in the details and dimly Serena wondered if it had been so clear when it had been happening the first time through, or if the clarity had only come with time and distance. She could feel every last bit of the cold tile floor against her legs and hips, her bare arms scraping against the bucket of old mop water. Her nose burned with the acrid smell of ammonia and bleach.

            The staggering form that filled the light from the hallway was nothing but a black shadow, menacing and growling deep in its chest. Afraid to take her eyes off the figure that she knew to be her mother, but afraid to keep looking, she felt the cold put inside her grow as the blackness seemed to morph in front of her eyes, growing bigger and more menacing. Extra arms grew out of the sides, sprouting claws and the head grew to a reptilian dragon-like shape. The smell of rotting meat filled her senses. She had no idea why she had always associated this odor with her mother, as in real life and time, she remembered the scent of soured whiskey and sweat being the harbinger of her tormentor’s presence.

            The growl became louder, ringing in the girl’s head, vibrating inside her skull. Those hands reached to pluck her out of the relative safety of her spot at the back of the tiny closet and she couldn’t contain the scream that erupted out of her thin chest. It was shrill and high and so very frightened. “Shut up!” The monster had a hold of her now, claws ripping into her arms and drawing blood. Not even trying to fight, she hung limply in its clutches before being flung into the kitchen. She skidded across the linoleum, sliding until she hit the corner of the cabinet.

            She couldn’t stop the screaming once it started, the noise continuing without her permission. _Shut up,_ the older Serena told the younger body she inhabited, _please, please stop. She won’t hurt you as bad if you’re quiet. Please!_ But the wailing continued and the scene played out in horrible clarity. This was a mix of memory and surreal nightmare, the dragon hybrid taking the place of her mother in the kitchen. She recognized this as the night the neighbors had called the police and someone had finally come to rescue her.

            Serena was suddenly, mercifully, outside of the scrawny eleven year old body that was trying desperately to get away from the drunken monster. She watched as clawed feet kicked at the thing that didn’t even look human anymore, bones brittle with neglect cracking and breaking with the force of the blows. A sudden hot fury overtook her older dream self and it rushed through her like molten lava. She rushed at the four-armed thing that her mother had morphed into, charging with a strength borne of too many years of being too frightened to even allow herself to speak of what had happened during the first years of her life. Every bit of agony, physical and mental, was channeled into anger too bitter and hot to contain.

            There was a moment of surprise when she actually connected. She collided with the flesh and blood abomination that had birthed her and had actively tried to kill her. Still much smaller and more delicate than the woman-shaped thing, Serena was at the disadvantage. But a killing rage had made her near invincible and she swung her balled fists into whatever she could connect with, not feeling the blows rained down on her with open, razor-sharp nails that cut and sliced at her. Crashing into the butcher’s block that sat in the middle of the large kitchen, Serena grabbed one of the stainless steel knives that were right at her elbow.

            She lunged in, ducking past swinging arms and gnashing teeth. Tackling the creature, Serena rode the momentum to the floor, straddling the bucking waist. Using her body weight, she plunged the blade into the armored breastbone. There was a shocked whimpering yelp of pain and the beast morphed back into the more human aspect of her mother. She pulled the knife out and then slammed it back in underneath the ribcage, pushing up until it lodged into the sternum. She let it go and watched the pale, familiar face snarl up at her weakly.

            “Little demon-bred bitch,” the words were wheezy and gasping as her lungs filled with blood. “You think this is going to change anything? I should have killed you. I should have drowned you like an unwanted puppy.” The angry, bitter eyes that stared up at her were a warped mirror image of her own nearly translucent green.

            Serena grabbed handfuls of her hair and lifted her head up, then slammed it back down on the floor with a loud crack. Then she did it again, and again, and again until the sound was no longer solid and there was no light left in the bits of glass that made up her eyes. She sat staring down at the mess. Her hands ached and she tore her eyes away and looked at the gore staining her fingers and the blood pooling around them. It had soaked into her clothing and stained her skin, the warmth of it was oddly soothing and she felt so hollow. She could feel eyes on her and she looked over at the child that used to be her. “She can’t hurt you anymore.” The voice that came from her throat wasn’t her own, but Hannibal’s.

*~*~*

            He knew she was dreaming. It was in the way she moved, kicking at the blankets until they were in a heap at the bottom of her bed. She turned over fitfully, pushing at the pillows until her head was flat on the mattress, and even then her hands gripped the sheets until her knuckles were white. Hannibal had left her sometime after she had first fallen asleep, believing the medications he gave her and her complete exhaustion would have ensured a peaceful sleep.

            His appointment with Will had been more talking about his young patient than about anything else. He had gained more insight as to how the younger man related to Serena. Hannibal wasn’t the only one to recognize the similarities between the two.

            “She sees things from the opposite viewpoint as I do, but we’re linked in some horrible way.” Will had looked so troubled at the thought, that someone else was curse with the empathic overload, especially someone as physically damaged as Serena.

            He was faintly pleased that Will felt a brotherly protectiveness toward her. For a while he had feared that there was something of an attraction. While a rivalry between himself and the profiler could be an interesting development all in itself, he would rather not deal with the darker emotions it might bring out in his own psyche. Not when he had a twisted affection for Will as well, one that bordered the same inappropriate yet tantalizing line as his feelings for Serena.

            Sometime after he had climbed into his own bed and had drifted off into a light rest, he had been disturbed by the faintest of sounds. Instantly awake, he had returned to Serena’s room to check on her and found the bed in complete disarray. She was sprawled across the mattress, her legs and feet bare. The enchantingly loud socks had come off while she was sleeping. His eyes took in her slumbering body, seeing the changes already evident in the two months she had been living in his care. She had put on much needed weight and was in the process of building muscle mass. While still not generous, the gentle curves she had gained made her appear much more woman than child.

            The long nightshirt she wore had ridden up over her hips, baring her simple blue cotton panties. As he watched, she turned onto her side facing away from him, affording him a view of the line of her hip and backside. Restlessly she kicked, then rolled onto her back, one arm flung over her head. Her modest breasts pushed against the soft fabric of her t-shirt and his body reacted to the sight, the heat having risen almost from the moment he had walked into her bedroom. Without making a sound, he moved toward the bed and smoothed her hair back out of her face and watched the expressions filter over it. Eyebrows furrowed, her eyes were moving quickly under the thin skin of her eyelids. Her lips pursed into a tight line and a muscle ticked in her jaw.

            Hannibal touched a fingertip to her mouth, lightly tracing her lips. They relaxed and opened as she took a heaving breath as if she had forgotten the necessity somewhere in her dreaming. He leaned in and allowed his lips to hover over hers, leaving barely a breath of space. He breathed in as she breathed out and closed his eyes at the sweetness of it. He pulled back before she awakened to see him so close. “What are you dreaming, little one,” he asked, sitting down on the bed to watch her at a more appropriate distance. He was much less formal with her than he was with most, but this was the second time he had dropped an endearment instead of her given name. No one else had heard him either time, of course, not even Serena.

*~*~*


End file.
